


The Malfoy Heir and the Boy Who Lived

by Saraste



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 30 Days of June Fic, Angst, Consent is Sexy, Drarry, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Gender Issues, Genderqueer Character, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Misgendering, Other, Room of Requirement Shenanigans, Smut, Social Gender Dysphoria, Social Gender Role Anxiety, Underskirt Oral
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7170155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never talk, even when they should. Draco has a secret Harry knows. But which almost no-one else does. Draco's tired of hiding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 11/30 of my 30 Days of June Fic. This just... happened.

Draco accosts Harry in a corridor after classes, as always. He just stood there for a moment before simply scrunching up his face in exasperation when Harry did nothing, as he always did, and turned on his heel in a swish of well-tailored robes and began to stride the way he'd come from. As always. And Harry, as always, followed him.

 

They spoke nothing as they walked, the way so familiar. Even when they had been doing this for only a few months, yet their steps never faltered, anticipation almost tangible between them.

 

Draco stops in front of the door of the Room of Requirement, sighing, closing his eyes and waiting. When Harry opens the door it was to reveal a haven, their Haven. A room where they could be just Draco and Harry, not Draco the Malfoy heir and Harry the Boy Who Lived, ex-Death Eater and War Hero respectively. A room where all secrets were out. Well, almost all.

 

Here, in this room, Draco could push Harry against the closed door and kiss him desperately, like he dared not do elsewhere. Like he almost dared not do here, in the warmth of Harry's arms. For one right deed did not make up for a life time of bad choices, even if they were so very young, still. Had been children playing at adults because that had been what was needed of them in a War neither had even started. Harry was broken by War also, the same boy who left Hogwarts after their sixth year was not the one who returned for an eight year. His eyes were haunted sometimes, he sometimes woke screaming, not himself, when they fell asleep after, sometimes with hands scrabbling for a hold around Draco's throat.

 

Draco just wished he wasn't, wouldn't end up being, Harry's bad choice.

 

It was impossible to believe when they were together, for Harry held nothing back, as far as Draco could tell. For how well could one learn to know another when all you did was sneak off and have sex? They did often laze in each others arms, to be sure, but they did not talk much. Their common vocabulary was sparse in the extreme and favoured heavily on 'yes', 'more', 'harder' and 'Can I?'. They had talked about what they were doing at the very beginning, had exchanged words of assent between heated, hungry kisses, had agreed as they'd writhed each other into a sticky release, had agreed that it would not be just once. Once had become twice, then thrice until Draco had wanted and had stopped counting.

 

He didn't want to have a number to think about when it was all over. And it would be over, eventually. One did not build a relationship on fantastic sex and next to no words. But Draco would not push.

 

Like Harry was doing now, flipping them around until it was _Draco_ pressed against the door and kissed to within an inch of his sanity. 

 

There was a bed in the room, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, but they did not go to it yet. No. Harry kept pressing Draco against the door, his thigh pressing, hard, between Draco's legs, mouth determined to steal the breath from him. Draco clung to him, rutting against him as much as he could. 

 

Months and months and Harry knew him so very well. Knew him well enough to make him come right there and then, pressed against the door, fucking his mouth with his tongue, hands in his overgrown pale hair, leg between Draco's, giving him something to rut against.

 

Harry swallows his cries, his ecstasy, kisses him through it, until Draco is almost too keyed up, until he can't take it any more. 

 

There's a wild look in his eyes as he withdraws and Draco's gasping for air, gulping like a landed fish, gazing at Harry, wondering what he'll do next.

 

'Can I fuck you?' Harry always,  _always_ , asks if he can. He holds Draco's deepest secret close to him, knows what he has under his robes, what few even inside of Hogwarts walls know, for Draco has kept his secret well. Until that first time months back when Harry had seen it all. 'Can I fuck you like a girl?'

 

It sounds crude, in a way, but neither of them have the words to phrase it better. And Harry  _does_ fuck him as a boy, too, and that's it's own kind of pleasure. But for him to do Draco as a girl...

 

Draco gasps a few precious breaths to clear his head, unsure if that's what he wants, if it's what he needs, what he thought about earlier when he'd met Harry in the corridor to steal him away for a lazy tumble between the sheets. Their toys are ready on the bed side table and he could... But Harry does always do him so good. He makes Draco want to experience that side of him he can only indulge in in secret, that side he's had to keep safely hidden away, because  _he_ is the bloody Malfoy heir, because Pure Bloods have fucking standards and to them Draco is a freak if they knew, it's a wonder he even survived being a Death Eater with his life, had almost been caught in his lie. For that reason alone becoming a Death Eater had undoubtedly been one of the worst decisions of Draco's life. 

 

'I'm not stopping you,' he tells Potter, because he can't say that he wants it, even if he does.

 

Harry leans closer, mouth next to Draco's ear, breath hot on his neck, tickling. 'Do you want me to fuck you in your dress?'

 

Draco shivers all over, his sex clenching with want, wet with his arousal. No.  _Her arousal_ . She cannot quite believe that he trusts Harry with her secrets, with all that her body is. Draco imagines Harry in her, her legs wrapped around his waist as he makes her feel good, as he fills her and kisses all over her chest, maybe bites a nipple, as his fingers.... Draco shudders with anticipation, her sex throbbing for him, wanting him  _inside_ . 

 

And in a dress. A dress. Draco hadn't even known about dresses, not really, until Harry and he started to do their thing. When Harry had first seen her naked, had realized that he was a her, even when she was a he at the same time, he had had this look in his eyes. And there had been magazines the next time, on the night stand, glossy unmoving Muggle photos of Muggle girls and women wearing floaty and frilly garments which were unlike anything Draco had ever seen. She had kind of fallen in love with the idea. (Not with Harry, of course. Draco was  _not_ in love with Harry. Not at all. Draco was a MALFOY.) Then there had been a dress, sometime later, to Draco's measurements and Draco had put it on with Harry's help and spun around, the full skirt whirling around their legs, and Draco had laughed and thrown their head back, feeling somehow less broken. Then Harry had fucked Draco, wearing the dress, against a wall. Draco had come hard and fast.

 

A dress hangs on the wall next to the night table, green but not Slytherin green, the skirt full and floaty, the top figure-hugging and Draco wants to weep. It's Draco's favourite.

 

_'Yes.'_

 

And Draco wants to do so much more. Wants to say all those things they never say. Wants to say an 'I love you', for Harry is the only person ever in his life to accept Draco as they are, who has actively shown Draco how they  _can_ be a girl, too, even if Draco has only ever dared to be so in the confines of this room. Has forgiven Draco more than most would have. More than what he should have, maybe. For Draco isn't a good person. Draco isn't  _nice_ . Draco will ruin Harry if Harry lets it happen. 

 

The worst is that Draco thinks that just that might end up happening. 

 

'Last time before the Holidays,' Harry says and Draco's heart drops a little. She doesn't want to think about the Holidays. Of Malfoy Manor and having to pretend that she is a he and he isn't a she, too. That Draco isn't both, fluctuating, even if she is only a she in this room. Because outside the room is a whole world where Draco is and has always been a he and nothing more. Draco feels quite like crying, suddenly and can't hide it quick enough. 'What's wrong?' Harry asks and he  _never_ asks such things.

 

Harry's Draco's escape and can't...

 

'Nothing,' Draco lies to him, 'aren't you supposed to be showing me a good time. Potter?' And she isn't usually this harsh, when she is a she. But Harry  _can't..._

 

'It's  _something_ ...'

 

And no, all's going wrong, Harry shouldn't have so many words for Draco. Never has had, before. Mostly because Draco kisses them out of his mind most of the time. Harry can't hold Draco this gently, can't walk Draco to the bed and fold them both down to sit at the edge. 

 

'Tell me.'

 

Harry can't sound so decisive, like he cares, like he knows that Draco's falling apart inside at the mere thought of having to go home come Monday, come the train and over a week in Malfoy Manor where Draco has to be the  _son_ of Lucius Malfoy. Where his father always looks at him like he isn't enough, like it's Draco's fault he was born the way Lucius would have wanted. Where Draco's mother might understand, to an extent, but not enough to unravel years of pretending, to tell the world “This is my child. They are different. I love them the way they are.” A cold bleak house where Draco is exempt from dresses and Harry's embraces and the way Harry looks him sometimes like he loves Draco, when he thinks that Draco is sleeping. A house which doesn't feel like home any more, not after the War. Where Draco will never get to be a he and a she and he and a she. Where Draco is always and only a  _son_ . Where Draco is wrong. 

 

'No.'

 

But Draco's heart is screaming yes. Wants to spill out all those unsaid words. All those thoughts of Harry. Of being a she, sometimes, instead of a he, or something mixed, outside the walls of this room. Walking hand in hand with Harry. Being Harry's most important person. And Draco can't say any of that. No. It can't happen. Won't.

 

'Draco... Tell me. I'm worried. I--- I'm  _bad_ at this. But I care. Please.'

 

And Harry's holding Draco's hand... There have already been too many words. Too many to take back, to swallow down, to lock away to be looked at never. Draco feels like she can't breathe, like all the unsaid words are choking her, filling her throat, her secret squeezing around her throat, her binder pressing too tight, cutting away her air.  _She can't_ .

 

She can talk but she won't look at Harry as she does. She almost bites the words back, bites her  _tongue_ before they spill out, easy as breathing, those words which are secrets, which should always have been kept back. 'I'll have to be a he. A son. I can't...'

 

'Do you want to come with me to Grimmauld Place and be a girl, or a boy, anything, if you want?'

 

Harry  _cannot_ ask such things. Such things are  _not_ what they'd agreed to, in those pithy words of consent they had exchanged months back. Yet Harry always asks. Asks how Draco wants it. Asks for Draco to fuck  _him_ if Harry's not fucking Draco. If Draco doesn't suggest it outright. Harry cannot ask Draco to go with him for the Holidays and expect Draco to agree. He just can't. But he does. 

 

'Could I?' And Draco doesn't mean to sound so broken, so lost, like the child he, or rather she, never got to be. To be somewhere else but in this room and be whomever they felt like. It's like Harry telling Draco that he understands.

 

Harry's hand is familiar and lovely on Draco's face as he turns Draco to look at him. 'Yes. I  _know_ what hiding who you are inside can do. I've lived it.' The conviction in Harry's voice and the shadow passing over his features convince Draco. Harry  _knows_ , maybe not in the same way as Draco but he  _knows_ . 'Spend the Holidays with me?'

 

'Yes,' Draco breathes and the future is thrown wide open.

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are words. But also kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/30 June Fics. Unbeta'd. There is a Bridget Jones quote in the dialogue. :)

 

They have ended up curled together on the bed, Harry's arms wrapped around Draco, his warmth a shield against the world, against the thoughts of being the Malfoy _son_ and that only, never the Malfoy _daughter_. Never what Draco was born as, never the side of Draco that's always been hidden, the she in he and the he in she, the duality. The choice which Draco had never had before, had never dreamed he could have, before this room, before Harry had...

 

It's a surprise how  _easy_ it is to be here in Harry's arms, to be comforted by him. By the promise. 

 

Be comforted by the words that are now theirs, that can't seem to come out of their mouths quick enough, spilling forth with almost no thought, no consideration to them at all. It's frightening.

 

'I thought you'd go to the Weasley's,' Draco says, head pressed against Harry's chest, Harry's hand at her back. She might not be wearing a dress presently but she is her secret now, is a she instead of a he, in this space where they have  _words_ , things to say to one another, things they  _want_ to say. 

 

Draco wants to try.

 

Harry chuckles. 'I thought about it but... I'd rather be together with you. And it'd be awkward this soon.' He's quiet for a moment. 'Because of Ginny.'

 

Of course. Harry's little Gryffindor  _girlfriend._ Draco has never asked, hasn't wanted to know, if Harry ever did with Ginny what he is doing with Draco. Draco hadn't been experienced, not with the secret, and Harry, Harry has been hesitant, still is, determined eagerness making up for it. And it's not like Draco  _minds_ . 

 

Draco asks, then, what he wouldn't have asked, yesterday. 'Do you want a  _girlfriend_ ? Because you know I'm not that. Not always.' “ _I'll not be what a War Hero needs. Not what you would need. Or want.”_ Draco wants to say but can't. Because they're fucking  _cuddling_ . Fucking talking. Saying all the words, having all the conversations that should have been had months ago. Putting into words all the sex, all the kisses, elaborating on all the softly uttered questions, on all the words both of them have swallowed down as too much, as too honest, always being so careful around one another.

 

_Please don't tell me you only want me as a girl, only want me as something that's expected. Tell me you want me as me. As someone no-one's ever really wanted. PLEASE._

 

Harry's hand tightens, almost painfully so. 'No. I want _you_. Just you.' Harry turns them, so they're laid side by side on the bed, face to face. And he's blushing even if he's looking Draco straight in the eye. 'I like you very much. Just the way you are.'

 

His fingers are gentle, brushing away over-long strands of hair from Draco's face, strands Draco has let grow so maybe she could... She has always been fascinated with the idea of braiding. Of ponytails and flower-wreaths, all the things she was never allowed to have, because she had been a boy even when she had always been a girl, too.

 

Draco's cheeks feel heated, she's blushing too, she knows it. He knows it. _Draco_ knows it. No-one has ever told Draco that. But it can't be, even when hoped, an “I love you” dressed into less poignant words, can it? Still, it could be and that would be wonderful if not... the War did not change so much. Yet here Harry is, wearing his heart in his sleeve and showing Draco that he cares even if it's not proper love yet, not deep, not a declaration of intent to be together for as long as they can stand one another, maybe even as long as... That Harry cares enough to try and give Draco a week of freedom, a week of exploration not only confined to within the walls of this room. That Harry is thoughtful enough to realize that it's what Draco wants. Has always wanted.

 

'You're not only saying that, are you?' Draco hates sounding so small. So broken.

 

Harry's gentleness is too much, too real and there's that haunted look on his face again. And Draco wants to be less prickly, she does, but prickly is as prickly does. Their history is too much and yet almost nothing when they're together. Too much when they rub each other the wrong way, when they say the worst things, things that they know will hurt, have always hurt. Even if some of the insults have taken the on role of endearments. Almost nothing when either of them is wrapped around the other and they lie sated in each other's embrace, wordless, but with a world of things to say, if either of them could just open their mouths and let the words out, spill them free to be heard. Nothing at all when it's one of them inside the other, when it's all pleasure and heat and desire, when it's sex and them. _When it's as close to normal as Draco's ever felt._

 

Harry leans in to kiss Draco, then presses their foreheads together. 'Not just saying it. Git.'

 

'Git now, am I?' Draco swallows the tears which don't need to stain her cheeks now. She can do snarky. It's been their modus operandi for so long, their way of communicating when all they'd had had been words and insults, when all they had was animosity and age old blood feuds, when all they'd had was eye-fucking and heated glances. Her eyes pierce into Potter's green.

 

'My git...' Harry whispers into the space before a new kiss. A lingering kiss. A heating kiss.

 

_Draco is._ Even when there are thoughts of how the feelings that Draco feels towards Harry might not be real, might just be born from Potter being the first person to see Draco as Draco is, has always been, who didn't think it was freakish to be a girl. Who _allowed_ Draco to be a her when so long Draco's just been a he. Who had encouraged it. Who had shared Draco's smile that first time with the dress.

 

Who had seen that Draco _was_ a boy, too.

 

Draco decides that there's been enough talking, more talking than what they have done consequently in the last few months. She kisses Harry back. Presses closer to him. Suddenly can't wait to get out of her robes, to be free of the binder. To maybe wear the dress hanging next to the bed, maybe ride Harry, kissing him, as the fabric shifts and flutters around them, as Harry shows her a good time, as Harry lets her be a girl.

 

Between one kiss and the next Draco's resolve strengthens and she kisses Harry lingering and sweet, like she too often doesn't. 'Let me get out of my robes,' she murmurs against his lips as she withdraws. The robes are easily discarded, unclasping her binder is freedom and the dress against her form like coming home, Harry zipping her up with a kiss to each of her bare shoulders, uncovered by the sleeveless dress. Draco indulges in a few swirls on the floor, feeling the rustle and flounce of the full petticoat as it moves around her bare thighs, thinks about high heeled shoes she's seen in Harry's magazines...

 

She barely notices Harry undressing, so lost in her own world is she. Almost surprisingly quickly Harry's there beside her, gathering her in his arms and kissing her, before he starts leading her towards the bed. She goes eagerly.

 

Harry surprises her, for he lays her down onto the bed, doesn't let her climb into his lap and fuck herself on his cock, which Draco can see is hard and wanting, hanging between Harry's legs as he leans over her.

 

'Harry, what?' is all Draco has time to ask before...

 

'Can I?' Harry looks at Draco, knelt between her legs, spread for him out of their own volition.

 

'Can you?'

 

'Can I kiss you here? Between your legs?'

 

Draco's sex clenches, her thighs shivering. She's still wet from earlier but seems to grow more by those words. She can't say it, even when she thinks she ought to, can just nod. But her “Yessssss” comes anyway, when Harry's head disappears under her skirts and his mouth trails light kisses along her thighs.

 

It's a revelation, when his lips meet her sex, his breath on her moist folds almost startling and then his tongue... They have never done this before. Draco has always felt too... not ashamed, but hesitant, hasn't thought that such a thing could be done with one's mouth, has never done a thing like this to Harry, to his cock. But she realizes, briefly, that what she feels from Harry's mouth on her, his tongue, _in her_ , is not comparable to her lips, his lips, on Harry's sex.

 

She draws up the skirts after an eternity of gasping and shifting her legs as Harry, as Harry... she wants to see his moving head, his shoulders, his hold on her thighs which can't seem to stay still. The fabric bunches this way and that and Draco reaches out a hand to lay onto messy dark hair. Harry comes away with a lingering lick.

 

'Good?' he asks, voice husky. His lips are kiss-swollen.

 

Draco nods. 'Don't stop.' _Never_ , she wants to add.

 

So, Harry licks his way back into her, tasting and licking that small nub which makes Draco arch and make her legs want to clench together as too much is too much yet at the same it feels like not enough. Not enough by half. Draco's mouth is full of words now, though most them being Harry's name and encouragements to keep going, to give her what she needs. She comes with a choking cry, hands gripping at Harry's hair, sex clenching around his tongue, legs shaking, body bowing over Harry's body as she near sobs at the intensity. She gasp and shakes through the aftermath until she has to push Harry away when it becomes too much.

 

Draco's thrown a hand over her heated face, a vivid redness blotching her pale skin, she doesn't blush prettily. Not at all. Her chest is heaving, snug but bound by the bust of the dress, her small breasts something she still thinks she ought to hide away, doesn't like to have people look at them, even Harry, so the dress is always best. Her legs are dropped down onto the bed and Harry's head is laid on her thigh, a little over the hem of the dress. His breath is hot and panting against her thigh.

 

'Are you?' Draco asks, doesn't know what Harry'll do now.

 

'I'll be soon.'

 

There are slick sounds, Harry's shifting and... oh. That is new. She wills her head to rise and looks as Harry pulls at his cock with jerky movements, not long at all until he comes, gasping Draco's name.

 

Draco feels like she's been cheated of Harry's orgasm because he didn't finish inside of her, because he didn't fuck her, fill her. Instead Harry's given her an intense orgasm, shown her a new kind of pleasure and still... This isn't how things are supposed to go. It's too like... like a relationship. Too much like Harry deciding that Draco's it for him, that he can date Draco, tell the world that they're dating. Harry Potter dating the Malfoy son...

 

“ _Repeat after me, 'I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy.”_

 

“ _But I'm a girl...”_

 

“ _Repeat after me: 'I am Draco Malfoy, SON of Lucius Malfoy. You can never be nothing but outside these walls, you hear me?”_

 

“ _Yes, father.”_

 

Her happiness is beginning to fade. She wants to curl up and cry, maybe. Draw in on herself. Because Harry makes her want to be a better person and Draco knows that she or he can't. Draco has never been given the chance to be who she or he wants, but was forced into a role _she_ doesn't always feel comfortable in and the secrets are... Draco had been happy when the Dark Lord had fallen, for it had meant freedom from worry of being found out and killed because Draco was a _freak_. Because her father has only ever been _his_ father, not hers. The father of the Malfoy son.

 

And Harry _doesn't_ need that in his life, all Draco's complexities. Even if Harry is the only person with whom Draco has ever felt happy with, despite the lack of communication through words in their relationship so far. It's too much. The tears come.

 

'Don't cry, Draco...' Harry says softly, soothingly, . 'Don't cry.

 

There's a rustle of fabric and Harry's gathering Draco in his arms, lips that gave Draco a new kind of pleasure, a frighteningly intense pleasure, are pressing kisses to Draco's face. She lets the tears come.

 

In Harry's arms Draco cries for a childhood forever lost, a chance of being a girl she never got, and the future, _Harry's_ , which she'll inevitably ruin by not being good enough.

 

'Don't cry, Draco,' Harry whispers into Draco's ears as the tears begin to ebb, 'I love you.'

 

 


End file.
